Love, Alice
by CrabbyCakes
Summary: A one-shot I wrote to explore the possibility that Mika is Alice Shimada's older sister. Enjoy.


September 2019

Dear Mika,

Remember those days way back when we were little? From when you were seven and I was three? Maybe I should clarify further: the day when we each got a little stuffed Boko bear. That was the beginning of my obsession with all things Boko. I guess I never really grew up from that one, but maybe that was because it was a little beacon of hope, that someone like me could keep going no matter how hard it was to lose.

You can correct me if I'm wrong, but I think you were the first to fall in love with Boko. It might have just been a nice little gesture from Mom and Dad, but to me, it was so much more. Still is.

I've been meaning to ask you for a few years now, whatever became of yours? Mine is still in my pocket even as I write this in my commander's seat. A good luck charm, if you will.

It's been far too long since I wrote you last—three years, right? My, how things have changed since then, with my college education and your normal life. I miss you. I do wish you'd come back. Maybe we could catch up on all the time we've missed over the years.

Well, I have to go. Mom's going to wonder why my tank isn't moving. I'll write next month. I look forward to it.

Love,

Alice

October 2019

Dear Mika,

I turned fourteen yesterday. Isn't it funny how every year is a milestone at our age? There's something new we get to do every time a number gets added to the age section of our vital statistics. What is a number, though? Especially for someone in college so early like me?

Mom made a cake for my birthday, a nice little chocolate cake with the icing you used to love as a kid. I used to get a real kick out of watching you stick your fingers in and lick the icing off. Mom always used to laugh at that in the moment before she remembered her duty as a disciplinarian, especially all the times you let me taste it. What a thrill, pilfering a taste no matter how unsanitary it was. Those were the days.

Remember that one time we attempted to cook on our own? The minor disaster that was? What was our secret recipe? Wasn't it it a hodgepodge of bread, ham, cheese, eggs, and whatever else we could find to throw in there? It tasted so good I remember wishing we had made more, although you took the lion's share of the food.

I'm not mad now, but I sure was pissed at the time. It was just a sandwich!

The part I'll always remember was the moment when you realized we had no clue how to clean up. Remember what you did? You put a sticky note on the filthy pan. Mom kept it to this day. She doesn't like to admit it, but I've figured out how to crack a safe. I saw it in there. It said, "Mom—we made lunch. We didn't know how to clean up. Can you do it for us?" The days when I used to laugh so much. I could always count on you to have my back. I don't mean to sound like a broken record, but I really wish you could see us now. So much has changed.

About that sorry excuse for a ham sandwich, Mom made a real one a little while back. All these years later, I still haven't told her exactly what we made. That's a secret between you and me, okay?

Love,

Alice

November 2019

Dear Mika,

I wanted to thank you for changing the course of my life. You didn't know it at the time, but that first day at work with Mom was the turning point for me. I was eight.

I didn't know what a tank was, but I had seen what they looked like on TV. When I asked, Mom said it was like a car but heavier, it had a loud gun on it, and it didn't have windows. I wondered what possible use anyone could have for them. How naïve of me.

I remember being so afraid of the tank when I first saw it. Mom's Centurion. It looked big and scary and it made a loud noise. I don't know how she put up with my kicking and screaming all the way across the practice field. But when we got there, you comforted me and pointed out the breeze. It was a warm southwest wind, so lovely in the spring.

Do you know what you said? "Feel that wind? It's blowing on the tank. The wind isn't afraid of it. If the wind doesn't fear it, neither should you, Alice-chan. Neither should you."

I don't remember too much of what people said when I was eight. But I can recall your exact words six years later because they changed my life, Mika-chan. Did you know that? They changed my life.

It was like a symphony orchestra had just played a note into my ears. I was entranced from that moment onward. Mom took my hand and lifted me up into the turret, setting me down in the loader's seat. You were twelve, so you were big enough to climb up yourself.

It was so stupid how I wanted to save a seat for Boko and pouted for a while after being told to seat him in my lap. You had gotten over the franchise by then and I could tell you were wondering how I was already in third grade, with my favorite teddy bear by my side at all times. But you didn't say anything. You just smiled. There was no malice, just love. That's what I'll always remember.

I never knew how good Mom was at all skills involving tanks until then. I watched in awe (at the expense of my eardrums) as she put a shell onto any target she selected. Then she let you try your hand at gunnery, then me. We were both so awful at aiming—it was enough work just reaching the sight—but it gave me a rush like I had never experienced before and haven't experienced since. You had mellowed a lot from the exuberant big sister I used to know, but you had the same resolve and never lost it. I remember you put your hand on my back as I struggled to aim the gun, and somehow it gave me strength.

I never really stuck with gunnery, though. Those times we went with Mom to the practice field taught me everything I needed to know about a tank and made me the best commander I could be.

Thank you for that, Mika. If not for your support in that moment and many others like it, I don't know where I'd be today.

Love,

Alice

December 2019

Dear Mika,

It's getting a little bit cold outside lately. My roommates are having to break out their sweaters and blankets, and it's really fascinating to see what kinds of things they are into that they would otherwise not mention. One of my roommates in particular is the biggest bitch I've ever seen but she has a Thomas the Tank Engine blanket. She doesn't like anyone looking at it, though. A death glare awaits anyone bold enough to even glance in its direction, and anyone caught mentioning it is probably prime game for hanging, drawing, and quartering. My other roommate says she got it from her little brother, but I don't believe her.

Remember the Secret Santa thing we used to do when we were younger? Well, my psychology class in college is doing something like that as a way of making the class more cohesive. Then we're going to be investigating to see who gave what. It's a really fun little exercise in getting to know our peers. I hope someone bought me something. The girl I'm doing it for is an early high school graduate, kind of like me. Don't tell anyone, but I also got a little present for Boko—a small Weeble modeled loosely on him. It always comes back up after it gets knocked down, just like Boko.

Mom said we're not going on vacation this Christmas. I asked why and she said it had to do with money and her work schedule. I understand, with college and all being what it is, plus the Centurion isn't cheap to maintain, but it still saddens me a little.

On that note, I remember our trip the summer before you left. Yellowstone National Park in the United States. It still ranks as the longest flight I've ever been on. But it was so much fun! We took so many pictures of elk crossing the street, even obstructing the parking lot at one point because the rest of our tour group was doing the same thing. All the geysers and hot springs—microcosms of home, inserted into the middle of nowhere in America. And the majesty of it all! Wow! I've never seen a canyon that big since. I hear the Americans have one that outclasses it in size, though. It seems like whatever I think is big, it turns out there's another that's even bigger. That's the beauty of the world: it always outdoes itself.

Mom is decorating the tree now. I'm looking at the picture frames that we used to hang up. If only Mom would put them up too.

Merry Christmas, Mika-chan. I hope you're happy this year.

Love,

Alice

January 2020

Dear Mika,

I made a terrible mistake today. I mentioned your name to Mom. As soon as I said it I regretted it. I don't hate you, let's just be clear on that, but it was Mom's reaction that got to me. She fell silent and won't look me in the eye. I wish you could talk some sense into her.

I don't think she's ever forgiven you for that cigarette she found in your laundry. At least, she centers on that as the straw that broke the camel's back. To be quite frank, I never understood the appeal of smoking, but I get it. You were just trying something new. What I don't get is why Mom flew off the handle at that. It was so unlike her that I can't help but wonder if there was something going on that I didn't know about.

You were lucky you didn't have to see how much I cried when I got home from school and Mom and Dad told me you weren't coming back home, that you had made a mistake and were running away. I didn't understand until later that Mom had set her standards too high and Dad was unable to stop her from throwing you out. Night after night, they argued about how much was too much. It stopped when Dad brought up the Nishizumi style as an example of being too regimented and challenged Mom not to be like them, but they still refused to let you come back. Not that you would have wanted to, with how they treated you that afternoon.

While I was going to college and leading anyone who wished to follow the Shimada style, I watched from afar as you found your own Sensha-do. Quite a sharp approach you developed, even if you never made it to the finals. I once told a teammate that Jatkosota High School would be a formidable opponent in any terrain to speak of, and she laughed. Incidentally, she commanded one of the tanks that your BT-42 knocked out in that match where you joined forces with many high schools. It's funny how things work out sometimes.

I managed to get into college many years earlier than anyone else I know and I rose to the top of the non-professional Sensha-do world alongside the Nishizumis. You got a normal education at a school that failed to win any national championships. Yet I've always envied you. I've always envied your ability to fit in, to be respected, to be a bastion of hope when all seemed lost. Like Boko, when our family knocked you down, you picked yourself right back up and kept running. The wind was never afraid of a little hiccup, was it?

I still wonder why you never wrote me in all the time since you left. Even now, I habitually check the mail, secretly hoping for a letter from you. I hope you haven't forgotten about us. That would break my heart.

Love,

Alice

February 2020

Dear Mika,

I've been circling this for six months now, getting close but never actually to the point.

The point is this: why?

I think I can pinpoint the two worst days of my life to the date with unwavering accuracy: April 18th, 2016, the day you left and August 31st, 2019. The day they told me.

That was the day they told me a story that haunts me today and will haunt me for the rest of my life. A story about a stray shot from one of your crews in training. They told me that you were sitting in the forest by yourself, playing your kantele. That the round nicked the kantele in the instant before it tore out your insides. That you died without a sound, smiling at your crew who had come to see if you were all right.

That day changed everything. Since then, I'm alone. Mom refuses to hear your name because it reminds her of the mistake she made kicking you out. Dad hasn't been himself lately. I've been hiding away from my roommates for the most part, only coming out when I absolutely need to or when it's time for Sensha-do. But even that gives me pause, knowing that Sensha-do was how you died.

I'm sure you know this, but we only held a small graveside ceremony because Mom didn't want to make herself seem a fool by going back on her resolution to cut you out of her life. She didn't get any family friends to join her. All told, just five people attended: Mom, Dad, myself, and your friends Mikko and Aki. One look at their faces and I knew they loved you as much as I did. No doubt they still do. I know I haven't lost it and I never will. I couldn't do that to you.

I've kept the kantele in my room at home. This past Christmas I spent long hours plucking at its remaining strings, crying my eyes out when I realized every day that it would never sound the same again. Not with a huge gash from a 45-millimeter shell in it. More than once in Christmas Day, Mom and Dad had to pry me from my room just to get me to come downstairs and greet relatives. I remember how that always used to be your job, making them feel welcome in the home of the Shimada style of Sensha-do. It didn't feel right, especially not just a few months after your passing. In practice, all my greetings consisted of was a tight hug and a fresh wave of tears. I couldn't understand why Mom couldn't get over herself and invite them to the funeral. They loved you and some of them still supported you through it all.

Even as I write this, I'm sitting in my room with a bandanna tied over my face to soak up my tears and make it easier to see what I'm doing, not to mention free up my hands from tissue duty. Your kantele is beside the paper on my desk and Boko is here with me. Yet now, I'm not sure if I'm as strong as you were. I'm not sure I can pick myself back up and keep on fighting. You were tough like that. No matter what you did, I always looked up to you.

What tears my heart out from the inside every day is that I wasn't brave enough to reach out when you were alive. Now you're gone and these letters are all I can do to make up for lost time. I hope you're reading them. If only there was some way for you to come back to me. Then I wouldn't have to write. I could talk like I haven't talked in a long time and you could listen and bring meaning to my world, just as it was all those years ago.

Farewell, Mika-chan. I love you. I don't know when it will be or where I'll be when it happens, but someday, I'll see you on the other side.

Someday.

As always,

Love,

Alice


End file.
